Chapter I: In the Holidays

“The habit of viewing things cheerfully, and of thinking about
life hopefully, may be made to grow up in us, like any other
habit.”

Those who never saw Miss Buss in real holiday mood could not be said to know her at all. As an educationalist she was instructive, admirable, awe-inspiring; but as a friend and companion attractive, captivating, lovable. She talked “education” where she thought her hearers were interested, and this subject always interested herself. Also, she often went on little educational missions of advice or instruction, and then poured out of her full stores very freely. But such occasions were not holidays. When she took holiday, she took it thoroughly, and those who joined her holiday parties all speak of them as Miss Hickey speaks of one which we enjoyed together—

“I had met Miss Buss before, but the first time I really knew
her was when we spent that Christmas at Clifton with her and you
and Mrs. Bryant and Miss Emma Elford and Mr. Frank Buss. And
since then I have even felt that no one could have truly known
her who had never been with her ‘out of school,’ and I have been
very glad to have then laid the foundation of a true friendship
with so great and noble a woman.

“Most people know of her remarkable power as an organizer; of
her intense interest in her work; of her high conscientiousness;
of her openness to new ideas, and readiness to give a fair test
to new methods; but few people are aware of the power she had of
throwing off the school-mistress, and of not only entering into
interests completely apart from educational ones, but of
entering into them with an unconsciousness of her position, and
an ignoring of what she had done.”

This stay at Clifton was memorable to me in my discovery of Miss Buss _as a housekeeper_. She managed for all the party—indeed, I do not think any one of us could possibly have ventured on arrangements or other management while she was there to do it. Her readiness, skill, and economy made a deep impression on us.

On another occasion, years later, she came as our guest to my sister and myself at Torquay. Up to Christmas we had revelled in sunshine, driving every day in an open carriage, and to this we invited her; also choosing for her the room with the finest view. But she came for a week of fog, such (so we were told) as Torquay had never before known. We had one or two misty drives, and the view was rarely visible. But she took it as it came with placid sweetness, working, reading, or talking, and was the least exacting guest we had ever known. And, afterwards, she could only recall the fact of complete restfulness, forgetting that there had been a fog.

Here is a note by Miss Crane to the same effect—

“Twice we all joined her summer holiday—once at La Bourboule,
and another time at Schlangenbad. I remember how she used to
enter into the pleasure and fun of our little afternoon
teaparties, given alternately by her party and ours, each vying
with the other in making the most of our limited paraphernalia.
And how she enjoyed the German custom of taking meals _al
fresco_ on every possible occasion, in spite of gnats and other
buzzing insects! She was always quick to see and enter into fun,
taking pains to enlighten those whose perceptions were less
keen. Her hearty laugh filled one with joy.”

The same thing is given in greater detail by Miss Bird, who says—

“I had known Miss Buss for years, and always felt attracted to
her, but I never knew her in her unreserved moods until that
visit to Kissingen, in 1882. We were all up in the morning
betimes, and used to meet on the Parade to drink the waters.
There were some wonderful bread-stalls, with an astonishing
variety of fancy breads and innocent cakes, where we bought
bread for our breakfast, and also laid in a stock for afternoon
tea. We were a party of eight, and we used to take turns in
giving each other tea. When it came to Miss Buss’ turn to
entertain, she used to take pains to select her cakes, that we
all felt eclipsed. We called her ‘ostentatious,’ and ‘vulgar,’
and ‘low,’ and she rippled with merriment, and seemed to enjoy
being treated as an ordinary human being. She was taking ‘mud
baths’—that look as formidable and ugly as they sound—a sort of
peat mixture that is supposed to draw from the body all its
aches and pains. I had seen in a window the picture of a woman
emerging from her ‘mud,’ and when Miss Buss was fractious, and
made excuses for not joining in the light frivolities of the
place, I used to say, ‘Well, if you refuse, I will post that
picture to the College to be exhibited, and the pupils will then
see the degradation of Miss Buss!’ This threat acted like magic,
and, laughing heartily, she used to comply. She grew bright and
light-hearted, and contributed her full share of amusing
stories.”

Miss E. P. Hughes records another of these times of relaxation—

“I spent a Christmas holiday with her at Cannes. She knew that I
had travelled little at that time, and she stopped at Avignon,
Nîmes, and Arles, to show me some of the old Roman antiquities.
Her energy and intense interest in everything was simply
wonderful. I had chiefly seen the educational side of her life
before this, and it was a revelation to me that she knew so much
and cared so much for other things. I am a fairly good traveller
myself, and keen about seeing new places, but I confess myself
completely beaten over and over again. I do not think that many
people realize the enormous amount of work she got through, so
much of it being unknown except to a few.... She was always
ready to enjoy a laugh. I can see her now, sitting in the great
amphitheatre at Nîmes, enjoying my discomfiture when I
discovered that, through my ignorance of South French _patois_,
I had mistaken our guide’s description of a Sunday bull-fight
for a meeting of the Salvation Army! At Arles I was severely
bitten by the love of Roman antiquities, and while I was
expressing this, in very Celtic fashion, Miss Buss said she must
take me to Rome some day, and laughingly gave me permission to
be as mad as I liked.

“I am glad to remember how happy she was at Cannes, how keenly
she noticed all the beauties of nature, how warmly she enjoyed
our delight in what was new to us, how sweetly gracious she was
to acquaintances in the hotel. I learnt then for the first time
to know what a wonderful power of description she had, as she
told me about her visits to Italy, and much about modern Italian
history, describing several eventful scenes witnessed by
herself. I can see the pictures vividly now which she painted in
words. I remember being surprised at the extent of her reading,
and then realized that she herself was so humble that, until one
knew her well, one was apt to underrate her.”

Miss Buss’ intimates all fell into the habit of keeping for her joke-book—a book from which she loved to read on any possible occasion—any choice bit of wit or humour, to reap double pleasure in so sharing it. She had that strong sense of the ridiculous which so often goes with the keenly sensitive temperament, and which is so essential to perfect balance of character. Without this quick perception of the incongruous there must be a want of true perspective in life, with failure in the right adjustment of the claims of self and of others. Very great work can scarcely be done without this gift, since of all others it most tends to complete sanity—to the sound mind, if not to the sound body—without which no greatest work is ever done. The intense temperament, lacking this guiding sense, is almost certain to show some warp or twist fatal to the finest achievement.

To this most helpful power of turning from grave to gay Miss Buss certainly owed much of her power of sustained work. At the end of a term, she was able, as she so often said, “to lock all her worries up in a drawer, and leave them there.” She then gave herself up to her holiday with all her strength, enjoying with keen zest all new places and persons, and returning from her travels rested and refreshed. It is true that her notion of rest differed not a little from that of average mortals, who sometimes felt it something of a strain to keep pace with energy so inexhaustible. She would beguile a long railway journey with some stiff reading—very much of her reading was done in railway carriages—and, on reaching her destination, after a few hours’ sleep _en route_, be quite fresh for a day’s sight-seeing, in which little was left unseen that merited notice. She lived to the full in the present moment, and thus made the most of life, having learnt to leave the past behind her, and to wait in hope for the future.

Several members of the staff speak with the same interest of the holiday parties, and of the value attached by Miss Buss to the complete change of thought given by foreign travel, quoting her frequent saying: “Do not run in one groove!” as she exhorted her young teachers “to save up for a trip abroad.”[19] She planned and arranged parties in France, Germany, and Italy, for her teachers and their friends, where they might take language lessons part of their time, and for the rest, go on expeditions for “thorough” sight-seeing. And here, Miss Elford adds—

Footnote 19:

Miss Hughes speaks to this point: “On two occasions I went with her to
see some famous Roman schools, as well as by her advice to Naples, to
see the wonderful school of Madame du Portugal. It was a great
pleasure to accompany her; she saw so much, cared so much, and
compared so admirably what she saw with other schools elsewhere, and
she was so careful to utilize what she saw and heard. She was always
anxious to help teachers to visit the schools of other countries, and
did much to stir in me a great interest in foreign education. I
believe she first started the idea of travelling scholarships for
teachers, and she felt great interest in the Gilchrist Scholarship
when it was founded.”

“Miss Buss was a delightful companion. I visited many places in
France, Switzerland, and Italy with her, and she knew the
history of every city and town. A stay of three weeks in the
Maderanerthal will never be forgotten, as she was able to enter
into all our expeditions.

“The young always—men or women—were attracted by her
vivaciousness of manner and her delightful talk, so that our
evenings in the hotel were bright and cheerful, though no one
knew who she was till after her departure.”

She always became quite naturally the centre of any circle. I remember one day, when she and I were staying at Ben Rhydding, we were in a corner of an almost deserted reading-room, and she began to talk in a low tone about the book she was reading. It was not long before the nearest reader laid down his book and came nearer, to find appreciative listeners to his good stories of Ruskin—whose pupil he had been—and of other notabilities, as he and Miss Buss exchanged many an anecdote and _bon-mot_ then crisp and new, though since worn threadbare. There was no more reading that morning, every one who came in being very willing to join the laughing circle. Many interesting persons came and went during our stay at Ben Rhydding, and it was curious to note how soon they found her out, and how eagerly all gathered round to join in the talks which she set going. She enjoyed it, too, as she writes of it to her sister—

“The crowds of people who know me in London wear me out, and I
confess that in the holidays I do not want to make acquaintance
recklessly. In a house like this there is no end to them, and I
have literally no more time to myself than I get at home. Still,
the experience is pleasant, and worth having, especially for
Frank. Some day you must share it with me. It is a comfort to be
without household cares, and a place like this gives one plenty
of opportunity of studying life.”

In summer she generally went abroad, and her letters give very graphic accounts of her experiences. There is a very full description of Fécamp, in particular, most interesting, if space would allow. And also many peeps at German towns. Miss Crane tells how Miss Buss stopped on her way from La Bourboule to collect all the facts to be found in Orleans, for her lecture on Joan of Arc, afterwards given to girls; and Mrs. Offord, in speaking of the lecture, shows how, at that remote date, Miss Buss anticipated the present cult of the Maid, setting her in the place now accorded by a repentant country.

The entire change of life abroad made it very pleasant to Miss Buss. From Berlin she writes, in 1882—

“Our pleasant holiday is coming to an end! Like Sep, I seem to
revive when out of my own country. Yet I would not change
countries, if I could. Exchange climates? yes; but country? no,
no, a hundred times no! I like to be able to kill myself, if I
choose, by going across a road at my own will, instead of being
taken care of by watchful police and soldiers at every turn. It
is dreadful for a country to be over-governed, and that is the
case with all the German towns I have seen, so far. We got here
last night late; the Crown Prince and Princess were in our
carriage (Frank and I started with Sara Bernhardt on her
wedding-night!). At every point there are soldiers. The whole
place bristles with the detestable military spirit; horrible
war-pictures are on the walls of the galleries, and military
trophies are everywhere.... I fear Prussia will have to pay—like
France—largely for her ‘glory.’”

But a volume might be made from her letters in her frequent journeys at home and abroad. She knew her native land well, but wrote less about it. A few extracts may be given, especially of a visit to Charlotte Brontë’s home, during our stay at Ben Rhydding.

Miss Buss had a very keen love of colour, and to her the total absence of everything but dull drab in Haworth was specially depressing. Houses, stone walls instead of hedges, flat tombstones so thick that no blade of grass could grow between them, all of this same lifeless drab, give an effect of singular desolation. The Parsonage, with its unbroken walls, in which were set flat windows, and with its roof of slate, closely adjoins the dreary churchyard. The only outlet for those passionate young lives must have been in the blue of the sky and in the changing tints of the expanse of moorland stretching into the far distance.

But it is of the church that Miss Buss has most to say in her notes of the day—

“August 18, 1879.

“A party of seven started at eleven, in a waggonette, for
Haworth, a drive of eighteen miles through several villages and
the town of Keighley. Haworth (pronounced _Horth_) consists of
one long, straggling street, frightfully steep, so that one can
neither drive up nor down, but must walk.

“We went to the Black Bull for lunch, and then visited the
church and churchyard. Oh, what an abomination the church is! It
is very old, dating from a _very_ early period. It has only two
naves, and no chancel, nor transept, nor anything to break its
hideous straightness. Where the communion-table stands is a
window, small, and, on both sides, another window, very large.
High, worm-eaten, rotten pews, a deep gallery at one end, and on
one side, and broken or worm-eaten beams everywhere; narrow
seats, on which it is impossible to sit; no ventilation, the
whole place reeking with the accumulated foul air of centuries.
Such is Haworth Church!

“Charlotte Brontë died twenty-five years ago—in 1855. In her
time the organ stood over the communion-table, and over the
rectory-pew! It seems impossible, but this is a fact. The
successor to Mr. Brontë has moved the organ into the side
gallery, and has taken away the pew, to leave room for some
benches for the choir. In this church Grimshaw, Wesley, and
Whitfield preached.

“We, of course, saw Charlotte Brontë’s wedding-register. We
wandered round the parsonage, which has been enlarged since the
time of the Brontës; we walked behind the house on the moors,
and entered the school where she and her sisters taught.

“All the houses are built of stone, and look cold and grey.
Hundreds of English-speaking people visit the place yearly,
through the interest in the home of those remarkable women, the
Brontës, and yet the church is to be pulled down in three weeks’
time. It seems a pity that no one can be found to build a new
church, and let the old one be preserved that we and our
successors may see how and in what places our fathers
worshipped.... Poor Charlotte Brontë! After seeing the place,
one understands how infinitely sad life must have been in it.”

In striking contrast with this desolate scene was another experience, when we spent a few very pleasant days in the last home of George Eliot, at Witley, which had been taken by our friend Mr. Neate. Miss Buss writes to her cousin—

“‘Daniel Deronda’ was written in her boudoir, now turned into a
spare bedroom, in which I slept. What a crowd of thoughts come
into one’s mind as one stands in that particular room. If walls
could speak!

“The grounds are 3½ acres, so they are extensive enough to
afford variety. The house stands on the top of a hill,
surrounded by trees and shrubs. The sun is glorifying
everything, and the distant landscape reminds me of one of the
lower valleys in Switzerland. There are hills on hills, low, of
course, in elevation, but making the view very diversified.

“Within a short distance lives Birket Foster, and nearer still
that charming water-colour painter, Mrs. Allingham.

“But my mind is full of George Eliot, her books, her life, her
struggles, aspirations——

“The carriage is here for a drive, so I have to conclude
abruptly.”

Here is a letter telling of one of her summer trips—the meeting alluded to being that first important interview with the Endowed Schools Commission—

“Harwich, Aug. 8, 1873.

“MY DEAR ALFRED AND LÉONIE,

“The sea is rolling in before my window; except for that
pleasant sound, nothing else can be heard! The sun is shining on
the opposite coast of the river Orwell, while on my right
stretches out the German Ocean.

“Having leisure before service, and again, as I hope, _after_
it, what better can I do with it than write a little
acknowledgment of your loving letters....

“I left home last Thursday, met Sep at Kelvedon, stayed there
till Saturday. The doctor, father, and I drove to Colchester,
thence to Manningtree and _here_, where we are planted for a
week. On Monday I go by train (the father and uncle drive up,
taking three days), attend the meeting on Tuesday, and on
Wednesday start for Dover, Ostend, and Brussels, where Sep
will meet us. Miss Jeanie Ridley travels with us. On Saturday
week Uncle Henry joins me in Brussels, and we go on to
Cologne, thence sleeping at Mayence, and going next morning to
Homburg, that I may, for the first and last time, see the
gambling-tables. They are to be closed this year. At
Heidelberg Miss J. Ridley leaves us, to remain with her
friends there, and we go on to Zurich, over the Splügen,
returning by Strasburg and Paris.

“This route will take us to Venice by way of the Brenner Pass,
between Munich and Verona.

“My dear love to you all. I hope our Charlie boy is having some
_riding_. A kiss to him and the girls from

“Your loving _sister_.”

At Heidelberg the party remained a few days, seeing something of the country, through the kindness of my sister’s friends, who lived in an old “schloss” outside the town. During this journey my sister first became really acquainted with Miss Buss, who wrote afterwards to me—

“I learned to care a good deal for your ‘child,’ and soon—well,
not too soon—found out how much lay beneath that excessive
reserve. Her _flashes_ were very interesting to me, but my
uncle’s companionship made it impossible for us to fuse, as you
and I did in Edinburgh.”

In later years, a course of waters at a German _bad_ became a necessity, and the letters give sketches of Spa, Ems, Kreuznach, Carlsbad, etc., which may be summed up, in brief, in extracts which also show the writer in relation to her own people—

“Kissingen, Aug. 20, 1885.

“MEIN THEUERSTER, ALLERLIEBSTER FRANZ,

“Ich liebe dich noch und immer. It is difficult not to
drop into German; we have been in the midst of it so long, and
we take a German lesson so often at the little theatre. Besides,
it has such pretty expressions. The use of ‘thou’ to those with
whom you are very intimate is charming! It is a loss to have
dropped it in English.

“Father will be home on Saturday, I hear, and I hope he will go
off to the ‘liebe mütterchen’ at Ilfracombe....

“To-day, for the first time, we have rain. But we have been to
the Saliné, or salt springs, and are now going to the theatre.
Last night we went to a ‘diabolisch spiritisch’ performance by a
conjurer. The Duke of Cambridge sat very near us, so near that
we could hear nearly all he was saying.”

“Marienbad, Aug. 16, 1886.

“... At six a.m. a fine band strikes up a lovely
_chorale_, which wakes every one. Hundreds of people carrying
tumblers go out on the promenade, when the band plays, and walk
about. There is so great a crowd at the Kreuzbrunnen that they
form three lines, and walk slowly one after another till they
get to the tap, at which a girl is waiting to serve. Some, I
among them, go to a hot-water supply to mix with the icy mineral
water, and then walk for twenty minutes. After this interval, we
again get into line for a second glass, and have another walk.
By this time the band has performed five pieces, all good music
and well played, and has gone to the other end of the promenade,
where there is another stream, the _Ferdinand’s quelle_. I go
here for a third tumbler and another walk. I get nearly two
hours, and then, but only then, go back to breakfast, which all
heartily enjoy.

“I have a lovely room, on the first floor, beautifully
furnished, with two large windows looking out on the pine
forest. Every window in Marienbad has a large cushion, the size
of the sill, covered with white cotton. I find that these are to
put your elbows on to look out of the window.

“To-day has been beautiful beyond description, cool and clear,
with cloudless sky, and the loveliest gleams of light between
the pines.

“We leave here on the 31st, go to Munich for three days, and
stay to see the famous Gorge of Pfeffers, and then join Mrs.
Hodgson at Serneus, Prättigau, Switzerland.

“I write a card every day to mother or father. Please send this
on. It is a great pleasure to me to have a card, dearest laddie,
and to know what you are doing.”

“Marienbad, Aug. 20, 1886.

“MY VERY DEAR SEP AND MARIA,

“... I wish Sep could get a chaplaincy in some German spa,
that would be so good for him and me, and that you and Arthur
could join me in a visit to the same place. The only drawback is
the long, wearisome journey. But one is repaid for the fatigue
by the delightful air and the complete change of surroundings.
One can live cheaply too. Our breakfasts cost—coffee, tea, or
chocolate, one egg, and as many little rolls as one likes—about
9_d._; dinner, 1_s._ 6_d._ or 1_s._ 8_d._; and supper, 10_d._ or
1_s._ Afternoon tea we make in my room. I have the largest and
handsomest room in the house for 25_s._, including everything.
My room is the general sitting-room, and where we receive
visitors, of whom there are rather more than I care for. The
chaplain, Mr. Thomas, of Jesus, Oxford, and his sister, with
whom I stayed in June, are here, with a fair number of English
whom they know, and whom, consequently, I know. There are four
members of Parliament, Sir Algernon Borthwick, Mr. Campbell
Bannerman, Mr. Hoyle, a most delightful man, and Dr. Cameron,
M.P. for Glasgow.

“After breakfast I return, and write or rest, while the others
go to the hills and sit all the morning among the pines, and
sometimes dine at one of the forest places.

“I go to a hot mineral bath at eleven, and at one we dine. We
never know where we shall have our next meal, and very often
have little or no idea of what a particular dish we order may
turn out. So the life is so new and fresh, so delightful for a
time that no one can fail to enjoy it. The band plays, there is
a theatre, there are splendid concerts, two libraries, besides
endless walks and views in the woods. The air is scented by the
pines, and by the wonderful flowers. We could hardly be happier,
in the quiet way that becomes our age.... An Italian professor
said to one of our ladies, who was laughing, ‘Ah, I will tame
you, _you screw_!’ She said, ‘What?’ He answered, ‘Why, you do
not know your Shakspere!”...

“The Duke and Duchess of Edinburgh only stayed one or two
nights, and had to go to the second floor. To-day we saw the
Grand Duke and Duchess walking about: they are very tall and
thin. Their children’s nurse is resplendent! She made me quite
wild to have her dress for the next costume dance!”...

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